


The Words That Voices Never Shared

by Kitsu



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien pollen did it, BS Medicine, Hands, M/M, Muteness, Touch Telepathy, Touchy-Feely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8530519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsu/pseuds/Kitsu
Summary: Temporarily mute, Spock has to find an alternative way to communicate with the people around him, especially one Leonard McCoy.Much touching of hands will ensue - eventually.





	1. Chapter 1

_"Hear my words that I might teach you.  
Take my arms that I might reach you." _

_\- The Sound of Silence_

 

Spock was sitting on a biobed, hands folded neatly in his lap, legs dangling over the edge. Doctor McCoy and a nurse he presumably should know the name of was hovering over him, performing their tests, instruments beeping occasionally. His lips were flattened together in a tense line, except for the few instances where he momentarily forgot that his voice had stopped working, relaxed them to speak, before remembering and smacking them close again.

He’d been cataloguing flora on a newly discovered M-class planet when one of the plants, a large, cactus-like growth with vivid purple flowers had released a puff of toxic green pollen directly in his face - leaving his eyes stinging and his lungs burning. Grabbing for his communicator, he’d tried to call for a medical emergency transport, only to find his voice gone. Completely, utterly gone, he’d not even been able to produce a whisper. He hadn't felt a flicker of panic - no, he told himself, he hadn’t. Instead he’d tried to locate the rest of the away team. Logically.

Trying to convey his predicament without words had proved difficult, and he’d found himself wishing humans were more telepathically inclined - touching a subordinate and forcing his mind on them was a step too far over something as trivial as losing his voice. In addition, it was his own recklessness having caused his current malady - none of his subordinates needed to know he was mentally berating himself over the moment of negligence.

However, between his distinct lack of speech, some gesturing and facial expressions, he’d eventually managed to convey his need for a medical check up to another science officer, who’d called up Mr. Scott for him, explaining the situation. He’d found himself transported to the  _Enterprise_ almost immediately.

Doctor McCoy had been waiting for him in the transporter bay, medical scanner ready in his hand. He would've had to run the entire distance from the sickbay to be there before himself, Spock realized. It barely showed.

“The hell did you get yourself into this time?” McCoy’d blurted out.

Spock had just shrugged, there was no way he could’ve explained it until someone got him a PADD to write on. He’d simply followed McCoy in silence to the sickbay, where he was now being fussed over by the good doctor - who was talking an endless stream, most likely to fill the silences where Spock would’ve usually have left a few short comments. He was essentially talking for the both of them.

“Your lungs check out, luckily. The pollen seem to have acted as a desiccant, drying out your mouth and throat, causing the burn, but it seems you avoided breathing it in too deeply, there is no trace of it in your lungs. Your eyes are a bit red and swollen, either from the drying effect or from an allergic reaction. I’ll give you a dose of antihistamines and some eyedrops to combat that. Your voice though… Now, I can’t tell exactly how, but the pollen seem to have affected your vocal cords much in the same way acute laryngitis does in humans, and quite severely at that. Your voice will most likely return, but how long it will take, I can only hazard… I’ll put you up for medical leave for a week.”

Spock shook his head vehemently, he felt perfectly healthy with the exception of the loss of his voice. A week off would be blindingly _boring_ , he was perfectly capable of working in the science lab. For one, he was curious of the plant that had caused his predicament in the first place. Of course he couldn’t fill his position on the bridge, but he was going to work on _something_.

Grabbing the PADD McCoy was holding, he called up a text editor. “Will work,” he wrote quickly. “Not sick, just voiceless. Can clear up backlog in lab. Tell Kirk to order Beta and Delta shift officers work shift and a half on bridge.” If felt too short, too limited, but it conveyed what he wanted to say. He held it up for McCoy to read.

“Fine. But you are not allowed to even _try_ to speak, or to make a single sound, it might cause permanent damage to your vocal cords for heck all I know. And I will check in on you, randomly. If you cheat, I _will_ find out.”

“Agreed,” Spock quickly typed and handed the PADD to McCoy, before standing up. Nodding his goodbyes to the doctor, he strolled out of the room, picking up the prescribed medication from the nurse on the way, and headed for his quarters. As soon as the eyedrops had calmed his burning eyes, he left for the science lab.

XXX

His lack of voice soon proved a proverbial ‘pain in the ass’. The moment people realized he couldn’t retort, they started making him the butt of their jokes - mostly behind his back, but of course he still overheard them. Apparently, they'd inferred his muteness also indicated deafness. In addition, he slowly started noticing how noisy people actually were - to the degree that they were interfering with his work. He found himself having to resort to slamming doors shut or books down on tables to make a point, getting them to quiet down when he was trying to concentrate. In hallways people stopped taking notice of him trying to pass, and everything took too long.

His nerves were starting to feel a bit frayed after a few days, and he found himself seeking out the doctor. There had to be something he could do to speed his recovery. He stalked into McCoy’s office, almost soundlessly except for the soft swish of the door. Walking over to stand before McCoy’s desk, he quickly found himself thoroughly ignored.


	2. Chapter 2

Bones continued reading the report on his PADD, trying very hard to repress the shiteating grin that was threatening to break his composure. A quiet Spock was a good Spock, he decided, and if his visit require urgent attention, Spock was quite able to alert him to it. He didn’t, so Bones decided to leave him to suffer in silence just a little bit longer, taking way too long to finish reading the last paragraph of the text.

Finally something akin to nervous energy started to emanate from Spock, almost a sound in its own right. Slowly, meticulously, Bones cleared away his PADD and looked up at Spock. “How may I help you today, Commander?”

Spock simply stared at him, eyebrows lifted high, mouth set in that familiar narrowed line. He looked like he was literally trying to make Bones hear his words without actually having to speak them. The arms crossed in front of his chest and the impatient tapping of his right foot also helped communicate his not-so-Vulcan annoyance.

“Still no voice, I gather?”

Spock shook his head.

Bones got to his feet and walked into the examination room next door. “C’mere, I’ll take another look at you.”

The medical scanner told the same story as the last time, no infection or scarring of the lungs, but severe irritation and swelling of the vocal cords. In fact, the swelling actually seemed worse. Not trusting technological doodads to tell the whole story, he made Spock open his mouth and pretend to say ‘ah’ just so he could check manually. “Have you been trying to talk?” he admonished Spock - who shook his head vehemently. “Delayed reaction, perhaps. Never easy to tell how your green-blooded self reacts to environmental effects like these. You’re reacting as if you had a viral infection, even though there is no virus is present. Antivirals or antibiotics would not help, but another dose of antihistamines wouldn’t hurt. Other than that, time is still the only thing I can prescribe. That, hydration and sleep.”

Spock went through the motions of a sigh, but made no sound.

“Sure you don’t want to take a few days medical leave?” It would do him good, relaxing a bit. Bones imagined Spock holed up in his quarters, curled up in a blanket, eating hot soup, no chicken - and he nearly laughed out loud, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth again.

This time Spock seemed to hesitate. Then he nodded and held up two fingers.

“Two days? I’ll arrange for it.”

Again, Spock left with a curt nod. Silence filled the emptiness he left behind, almost growing, ecchoing. Bones felt a chill run down his back. Twitching, he shrugged it off without thinking too much about it.

XXX

Two more days passed, two days where Bones heard nothing else from Spock. On day three he found a short message in his inbox informing both him and Jim that Spock still wasn’t able to return to duty. Feeling a bit annoyed at Spock for deciding that for himself - _who was the goddamn CMO on the Enterprise, him or Spock? -_ he marched up to Spock’s door, hitting the buzzer harder than necessary. The door silently slid open, revealing dim light and dry heat. Stepping inside, Bones looked around, studying the decor. Being in space for extended periods of time, the crew were allowed some customization of their cabins, but Spock’s were still positively spartan.

Bones found the man himself sitting atop his bunk, out of uniform - something rare in itself - with tousled hair and a shadow of a beard. Bones found the tips of his fingers tingled, wanting to touch the rough stubbles. Blinking hard and shaking his head, he drowned the familiar urge in reason. He was there to check on his patient, nothing more. He was decidedly _not_ going to think about the dark-eyed, pointy-eared incubus that more often than not invaded his dreams. The one that disrupted his sleep, left him cranky in the morning, the one who looked all too much like… _Hell no, not even thinking about that._

“I heard you’re trying to do my job as well these days, you really must be bored,” Bones tried to joke, but there was something in Spock’s eyes that made his joke fall flat. Worry, perhaps. It had been six days since the incident, with little to no improvement. If it had been himself, Bones would have worried. They were pretty much dependent on their voices to get their jobs done, and for one that proclaimed to having no emotions, Spock really seemed to _like_ his job. Bones knew laryngitis could take days to months to heal, but this wasn’t laryngitis, not really. It was some alien plant spore compromising some green-blooded alien. He really could do nothing but wait along with Spock. Goddamn xenobiology with all its uncertainties and unknowns.

Walking over to the bed, he sat down beside Spock, a decent distance between them. Unconsciously wanting to comfort, he placed his hand on Spock’s, thumb automatically rubbing against a pulse point. It was awkward, but he needed to do _something._ He was a doctor after all, and even though he might let Spock wait a few seconds extra before answering him just to aggravate, he saw clearly now that Spock was _bothered._

Spock’s head snapped to the side, widened eyes watching McCoy. The doctor seemed to have forgotten he was a touch telepath, and for a moment McCoy’s emotions were flowing freely from him, easy as a book to read. He tasted of worry, empathy, _affection._ How had he never read that from McCoy before? Because it didn’t taste new - the affection was old, something McCoy was accustomed to. Something mostly ignored, underfed, hidden. Something often connected with a green tinge of jealousy that burned in the pits of Bones stomach. Had McCoy known how open he was being, Spock would never had picked up on that - it was buried _deep._ Repressed.

Retracting his hand suddenly, staring at his own fingers, Spock considered that little tidbit of information. McCoy had let go of his hand as if burned the moment he had moved, probably thinking the contact unwanted. Far from it, the last few days had left Spock with a sense of isolation, trapped in a dark silence. He had _wanted_ someone to visit, but he knew he would’ve been bad company, and had thus avoided actively inviting visitors. Then McCoy, of all people, had showed up, driven by bluster and _worry_ , though he’d probably never admit to it.

Spock wanted to talk, wanted to communicate properly with someone, anyone. He decided to try something. Grabbing for McCoy’s hand again, he offered McCoy two of his fingers - hoping the doctor would recognize the gesture - hopefully without him knowing just how intimate it was considered among Vulcans. His eyes asked McCoy to accept.

Bones did. Touching his fingers to Spock’s, he felt a rush, a connection open, a whispered tumble of thoughts and half formed words in his mind. At first he reeled, almost pulling away, but then the words found their shapes and formed. “I apologize,” Spock’s not-voice echoed in his mind. “I think in Vulcan. Sometimes it takes a moment to attune to English. Can you hear me?”

“Clear as a sunny day,” Bones answered, vocalizing the words, unsure if his own thoughts would carry back along the link to Spock.

“Good.” Spock still sounded like Spock in Bones’ head, but there was _something_ different.

“If you could do something like this all along, why haven’t you already? Why wait until now?” Bones asked. “Wouldn’t it make everything so much easier? You wouldn’t have to chuck books around, leaving your fellow scientists fearing for their lives. Oh yeah, they told on you...” He chuckled this time, imagining books flying around the lab every time a labtech dropped something - causing them to drop even more things out of sheer nervousness. An exaggeration, surely, but an amusing one.

“Ah, well. It’s not something one does with anyone, it is considered...intimate. On par with holding hands publicly or even kissing for humans.” Even Spock’s mental voice wavered at that admission and his ears burned hotly. He wasn’t even sure why he explained it so directly to McCoy. It wouldn’t actually have been a lie to omit. 

“And you’re doing it with me because?” McCoy’s eyebrows furrowed, scepticism apparent, but his fingers stayed in place.

“Because you care...enough to show up here and check on me.” That pause was intentional.

“So you’d kiss whoever showed up on your door in your hour of need, then?” Bones felt like his brows would fuse into one if he furrowed them further, but he was feeling more than a little confused. Spock’s voice in his head made it harder to think - it felt like Spock would be able to see it if he thought the wrong thing.

“No,” Spock transmitted to McCoy. He tried to not form the “But since it was you…” that his mind unconsciously added to his train of thought, but a whisper of it managed to worm its way into McCoy’s mind, making him go even more wide eyed - leaving him looking like prey ready to bolt. “I trust you, you’re a medical professional,” Spock added quickly. “And this is certainly quicker than writing on a PADD.”

“That’s true,” McCoy agreed, letting go of some of the apprehension.

“I appreciate you coming by,” Spock continued, almost too quickly. “Could you hazard another guess at how long this impediment will last?”

“I’ll have to check you over again.” Letting go of Spock, Bones grabbed the scanner he’d brought along from his pocket, giving Spock a quick once over. “Your vocal cords are still irritated, but perhaps a tad less than a few days ago. Have you tried speaking today?”

Spock seemed to try forming the word ‘No’ but barely a whisper of it left his lips.

“Still that bad?” Bones looked apologetic for a moment, hating the fact that he couldn’t do anything more for Spock. “Well, at least now you have me to talk to. Much good that’ll do you, might drive you mad long before your voice returns, having to converse solely with my illogical self.” Grinning lopsidedly, he offered Spock his fingers again. “Who knows, maybe you’ll heal faster this way? Just so you can go speak to a fellow computer again.” Something like a short, warm laugh filled his mind, even though Spock didn’t show anything outwardly - maybe except a twinkle in his eyes. “No emotions, my ass!” Bones let him hear that loud and clear.

“I have to go now,” Bones then said. “Still on duty, technically. This was just a house call. But… I’ll come back tomorrow - if you want me to?” Slightly hesitant, he let go of Spock’s hand.

Spock simply nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

Going about his work the next day, Bones nearly managed to forget about the implications of Spock admitting to trusting him. Nearly. It wasn’t actually the fact that Spock trusted him that had his knickers in a twist, he’d guessed that much years ago - it was the fact that Spock had admitted to it - Spock still hated talking about anything related to his supposedly-nonexistent emotions. Bones just couldn’t figure out why Spock had suddenly decided to let him deeper into his little world, somewhere very few other people had been allowed. Uhura maybe, back when they’d still been a couple. Couldn’t be many others, the man was a regular recluse.

After Altamid and the extended period living on Yorktown where he had actually regularly socialised with his crew - he’d quickly adopted his customary mask of  _ ‘Commander Spock - emotionally stunted Vulcan’ _ as soon as the new  _ Enterprise _ had been commissioned. Jim could still rile him up, make him react, and so could Bones, but it took work, hard work, and he’d never considered them to be anything but colleagues of totally opposite temperaments.  _ Commander  _ Spock was simply a cold fish that was all too fun to get a rise out of.  

The impression of Spock’s mind had been... different. Not human, but  _ warmer _ than he ever let on during their everyday interactions. More like the version of him Bones had called  _ ‘delirious’ _ all that time ago. The version he had, if not fallen for, then at least dreamed of too many times. The version that had so quickly been supplanted by  _ the Commander  _ that Bones sometimes though he’d had to have imagined the whole incident. In addition, Bones was too old to fucking  _ pine _ for anyone. So he’d just gone about his job, and simply repressed anything untoward.

Now, all of a sudden,  _ something _ had bubbled to the surface, disturbing a frail equilibrium. Off balance, he found himself unable to concentrate on the new thesis on the deadly Teenaxian Stoneskin Syndrome he was reading. Instead he found himself wanting to check in on Spock, wanting to go keep him company, wanting to feel trusted. However, he was afraid that he was reading more into the situation than he should, and that he would be shut out again as soon as Spock regained his voice. Grinding his teeth together, he forced himself to wait, to finish the godawful paper.

XXX

Later, when he inevitably found himself walking the halls towards Spock’s quarters, he started fearing Spock would be able to read his turmoil from him, and he hesitated. Would he mind if Spock knew? Probably, yes. But he still wanted to help, still wanted to be the one Spock talked to. Breathing in deeply, he tried to calm himself, tried to bury any incriminating thoughts, before hitting the buzzer. Like the previous day it slid open silently, revealing the dimmed light and heat of the room. This time, however, Spock was nowhere to be seen. There were sounds coming from the bathroom, though, dulled but present. Not sure what to do with himself Bones remained standing just inside the doorway, rolling on his feet, swaying gently, hands clasped together behind his back.

Soon Spock emerged from the other room, his hair damp and the previous day’s stubble gone. He looked immaculate except from a few stray locks of hair on his head. Bones’ fingers itched to touch again, sending tingles up his arms, little sparks that travelled down along his spine. Curling and and uncurling his twitching fingers behind his back, he distracting himself and rolled onto the balls of his feet again, before biting his lip. 

“How are you this evening?” he asked, and only moved when Spock offered him a hand, two of his finger stretched out, showing no hesitation. Bones reached out, touching his fingers to Spock's, that disconcerting rush of unformed words and thoughts filling his mind. Dizzying, it still felt warm, felt right, even though Spock hadn’t even spoken yet.

“I am good. How was your day, Doctor?” Spock sent. Sensing the surface swirl of McCoy’s distress, he wondered what had caused it, but respectful of the doctor’s privacy, he tried not to read any deeper layers of his mind. If McCoy wanted him to know, he’d tell him. “You seem agitated.”

“Oh, I’m just peachy,” McCoy quipped, a sharp edge to his voice, though he tried to hide it. Sighing, he realised that though Spock was the reason behind his discomfiture, it wasn’t something Spock could help. He sighed, breathing deeply. “I’m just a bit upset. Over something completely illogical, so it wouldn’t interest you.”

“On the contrary, Doctor, if something has upset you, I could certainly lend an ear if you want to discuss it with someone.” It sounded like he meant it, the words forming in Bones’ mind calming, soothing - leaving him even more confused.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.” Before Spock could form an answer, Bones retracted his hand, rubbing the back of it against his other one. 

Oddly upset by McCoy’s gesture which effectually cut him off from Spock, Spock froze momentarily. He understood though, understood that McCOy was struggling with something, and that he himself was part of it somehow. Giving McCoy pause to think, Spock instead wrapped his fingers around McCoy’s uniform-clad wrist, leading him over to a sitting area, urging him to sit down on the sofa behind them. 

After waiting for a moment, Spock offered McCoy his hand again, and when he finally felt his warmer fingers against his own, he opened the link. Deciding to take a chance on something he was fully aware he didn’t recognise all the finer points of, that something he had gleamed by accident the previous day, he chose his words with care, before forming them in McCoy’s mind. “How long? How long since you stopped hating me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this took a turn for the angsty. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to. I'll fix it soon. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S ALIVE! Well, partly. I am trying to finish this, though it's been a while...

“What?” Bones spoke out loud. “I’ve never hated you. In fact, if I recall it correctly, the first things I said after learning who you were was that I liked you. Technically, I liked your ability to rub Jim the wrong way. But then I got to know you, and found that you liked pretending to be a disagreeable bastard. You can be a bit of an icicle, but I still didn’t hate you, I just didn’t agree with some of your choices. I’ve always respected you though.” He wanted to say ‘liked’, but for some reason he couldn’t muster up the courage. 

“You feel something other than respect for me,” Spock’s voice spoke in his mind, and Bones shuddered. It wasn’t a question at all, simply a statement. “You have for a while. When you’re unguarded, I can read it off you.” Spock punctuated his words by grabbing McCoy’s wrist with his free hand, rubbing his thumb against the pulse point there, feeling the steady rhythm skip a beat and speed up slightly. “It is buried deep, but I sense it.” 

McCoy swallowed hard, put on the spot, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. “I…,” he started, but he tripped over his own words.

“You can lie to yourself, Doctor, but not to me. Not like this.” 

“Please ignore anything you’ve read off me.” Bones withdrew his arm, clutching it against his chest with his other hand. “I’m an irrational human being, after all. I can’t control my feelings, sometimes they just decide to go off on their own...” He tried getting up to leave, but was stopped by Spock’s arms encircling him from behind long before he reached the door. The sensation of Spock’s tall, slender frame pushed against him felt all too nice, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Don’t run away, Leonard.”

The words echoed in his mind, stopping him as effectively as the hug. They were warm. Glowing. Comforting. He felt an urge to lean back against Spock, to find support in him. It felt right.

Reaching up instinctively, he placed his hand over Spock’s, indulging himself for a moment. How long had he dreamt about this? At least since Altamid - since he’d heard Spock laugh for the first time. He’d brushed it off with a joke at the time, but the sound haunted his dreams, along with a pair of dark eyes, far more expressive than the owner liked to admit. 

“Why have you never spoken of this?” Spock’s voice in his mind was disarming, soothing, forcing the truth from him, gently.

“I… It never seemed appropriate. First with Uhura and you… Then… And…” He couldn’t form the words, but flashes of images filled his mind, speaking for him.

“Your feelings are not important to you?”

“They are, but I’m extremely good at suppressing. Though you might have noticed.” He tried to make his words sound flippant, but a sharp edge still infected them.

“I had not. You always seem to ‘wear your heart on your sleeve’, as the saying goes.”

“The emotions I don’t mind you knowing about, sure. Makes it easier to hide the ones I don’t want people to know about.” It was true. In the vortex that was his mind at times, letting the surface thoughts spin freely made it easier to bury the hurtful ones in deep, dark places. 

“How have I never noticed?” Even though the words sounded in Bones’ mind, it seemed more like a rhetorical question, one Spock would have to answer himself.

“So now you know,” Bones said, the words catching in his throat as he spoke them. Letting go of Spock’s hand, he twisted out of his embrace. “Decide what to do with it on your own.” Never turning back, he managed to escape through the sliding doors, the hiss of them closing letting him know he was alone in the hallway. He ran.


	5. Chapter 5

Seeing to it that the Commander got three more sick days, whether he wanted them or not, Bones managed to avoid Spock completely for the next few days. At the end of day three, though, he received a message from Spock, informing him that his voice was slowly returning, and that he would be stopping by the MedBay for a check up.

Bones hid in his office, hoping Spock would let one of the other medical staff give him his check up - to no avail. Five minutes past too early, Spock showed up at his door, the determined knock alerting Bones to his presence. “Yes, yes, come on in,” he answered exasperated. He needed more time. Much more time.

Spock stepped inside, hands folded behind his back. “Doctor,” he spoke, voice barely louder than a whisper, raspy and hoarse. 

“You should have waited one more day, at least, before speaking. It’ll do you no good to strain your vocal chords.” Bones got to his feet and stretched, a muscle in his back spasming after having been seated for an extended period of time. He rubbed the sore spot.

“True. But I needed to see  _ you _ , Doctor.” Spock stepped further into the room, letting the doors close behind him, hiding them from any prying eyes. 

“And why is that, Commander?” Staring at the back wall of the room, Bones tried to keep his face turned away from Spock, pretty sure he would blush like a pretty, young debutante at her first ball if he looked Spock’s way. Completely unprofessional, he knew, but well… Goddamned telepath, he should’ve left whatever he’d seen in Bones’ mind well enough alone. 

“If I had waited any longer, you’d work yourself up into a heightened state of extremely turbulent emotions, which eventually would impede your work.”

“And what the hell do you mean by that?” Bones couldn’t help glaring Spock’s way, thankful he could blame any redness on his face on anger. That had definitely sounded like the old Spock, icicle extraordinaire.

“Simply this; if left alone, you brood. This time, I won’t let you.” Spock stepped closer, placing a hand on Bones’ shoulder, who slowly backed up, until his back hit the wall. 

“What are you up to, Spock?”

“Just this.” Sliding his hand slowly from Bones’ shoulder to the back of his neck, he touched the chilled pads of his fingers against warmer skin. Pressing his forehead to McCoy’s, he asked “Do you want me?”

Pretty sure he was doing quite the impressive imitation of a fish out of water, Bones smacked his mouth shut.  _ That _ had definitely not been very Spock-like. Sure, he’d seen Spock acting warmer, more private around Uhura when they’d been a couple, but only on a few occasions, and mostly in some desperate situation. Spock was after all the unrivaled master of acting proper. And well, even though the impression of Spock in his mind had felt warmer, Bones hadn’t believed he’d get to see the not-so-prim side of the Commander again this quickly. He’d expected coldness, being ignored. He’d expected everything to go back to normal, anything but this. Spock was too close, too  _ there.  _ Bones realised he was holding his breath.  _ Fuck…  _ He was pretty sure he’d dreamt about a very similar situation, and that his dream-self had been quite a bit more eloquent in answering Spock’s question that he was being. Swallowing, he searched for his voice.

“You know the answer.”

“Tell me anyway.” Wanting McCoy to admit to his feelings, Spock needed to hear the words with his as ears as well was with his mind. Spoken out loud they would be truth, not thought.

Closing his eyes, Bones rested his head back against the wall. Sighing, he realised he had been hoping, praying, wishing for exactly this - so why the hell was he feeling so hesitant? For one, it was Spock. Goddamned Spock, the pointy-eared scourge of his life…  _ To hell with that. _

Opening his eyes, he stared back at Spock. “I want you. Have for quite some time, you insensitive, green-blooded bastard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might leave it at this, might write more. Que sera, sera.


End file.
